Death is another bar which lies several steps below the normal world. I'm at its threshold, but not yet in it. Its doorway is doorless.

Everytime you read, you are walking among the dead, and, if you are listening, you just might hear prophecies.

Culture is that which falsifies.

Well, fear and homophobia are both pervasive.

All memory can do is scream for touch.

And I'm working at trying to find a kind of language where I won't be so easily modulated by expectation.

Every day a sharp tool, a powerful destroyer, is necessary to cut away dullness, lobotomy, buzzing, belief in human beings, stagnancy, images, and accumulation. As soon as we stop believing in human beings, rather know we are dogs and trees, we'll start to be happy.